


Tear me to pieces (skin and bone)

by lxinshib



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Character Study, M/M, Short Chapters, This comes from me trying to overcome writers block so it's not very thought out or planned, WIP, was tagged with porn but i realized it's not porn so i changed it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-05-20 16:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19380466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxinshib/pseuds/lxinshib
Summary: When Murphy presented, he killed his father.Murphy was a gutter rat, trying to survive in a wretched place. He knew it was his fault his father was dead, he knew nobody liked him, and he knew everyone would be better off if he hadn’t been born. But he didn’t want to die. He wanted to prove to everyone that he deserved to be there, to be alive. He kept going out of spite, really.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> title from: billie eilish 'Lovely'  
> tw: minor character death, mention of child abuse, canon violence

John had his first heat two weeks before his thirteenth birthday. He didn’t understand what was going on, only that it was hot and painful. It lasted four days, and when John was lucid again his father was gone. His mother would only start crying when he asked her where he went, when he’s coming back. A couple days later, John would learn his father was dead. Floated. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. The day after his heat ended, John was taken to medical and given a shot, a “suppressant” the doctor called it. She told him he’d have to come back every three months to get another. After that, John wouldn’t think too much about it. It was a more of a minor inconvenience in his day-to-day life. Aside from his check-ups, John never thought about it. His dad, dead. His mom, devastated. Angry.

 

One month after John’s first heat and his dad’s wrongful execution, his mom started drinking. And screaming. She would spend her day drinking, and when John got home, she would yell at him. Occasionally, she’d throw a bottle at his head. Lucky for him, she had bad aim when she was drunk. Still, he would clean up the broken glass and help his mom to bed, even with her insulting him while he did. His mom stopped calling him ‘John”, calling him ‘kid’ or ‘Murphy’ (or mistake). John was named after his father, and just saying his name brought her too much pain. Eventually, John started calling himself Murphy, too. That’s just how it was for him. He’d spend as much time as he could away from home, either in the rec room or canteen. Having a dead dad and deadbeat mom made him a little… hostile. Like a dog backed in a corner, he’d bite. That meant he didn’t have many friends. Better, really, meant no one would question where some of his bruises and cuts came from. Although, most came from fights. Or, what Murphy liked to call fights. His sharp tongue made him the target of many stronger, older kids.

Murphy was a gutter rat, trying to survive in a wretched place. He knew it was his fault his father was dead, he knew nobody liked him, and he knew everyone would be better off if he hadn’t been born. But he didn’t want to die. He wanted to prove to everyone that he deserved to be there, to be alive. He kept going out of spite, really.

 

On Murphy’s fourteenth birthday, he came home to find his mom dead. She had choked on her own vomit. He called 911 through tears, left the phone off the hook, and ran. He ran all the way to Officer Jameson’s quarters and when he got there, he set them on fire. This was the asshole who arrested his father for trying to get medicine for his twelve year old son. This was the man who floated his father, killed the one person who loved Murphy and who wanted to protect him. This man deserved to die.

Jameson wasn’t in his quarter’s when Murphy set them on fire, but he did get back in time to arrest Murphy for arson. (Murphy didn’t know then that he had burned two months of oxygen. It didn’t matter at the time)

Murphy spent three and a half years in lockup, or the skybox as they called it. For the first year, he was alone. He didn’t have a roommate and he never spoke to the other prisoners. Why bother, they’re all going to be floated anyway. Including him. Murphy ignored all other people, occasionally getting in fights (they were actually equal fights) and then thrown in solitary. The longest he’d spent in solitary was two months. It wasn’t  all that bad, once you got past the crushing loneliness. Sometime in his second year, a new kid sat down across from him and started talking. Murphy could tolerate him. John Mbege was a good person. He got caught stealing food, and now he was here. Murphy and Mbege quickly became friends, as it turned out they had more similarities than just their names.

 

Six months before Murphy was to be floated, he was told he wasn’t going to be. He was sat down in a class with the other delinquents and he was “taught” earth skills. Or, earth skills were beat into him. They were lined up and strapped into a dropship, one headed to the ground. Jaha told them this was their second chance.

They were sacrifices for the greater good; if they survived, then the rest would follow. If they didn’t, then everyone was doomed. It was bullshit if you asked Murphy. Send a bunch of defenseless kids down to the ground where if the radiation didn’t kill them the environment would.

99 other delinquents and one questionable looking guard joined him in the journey to the ground. It was rough, killing two guys while landing. They deserved it, really, for getting out of their seats. Something had gone wrong with the parachute or the thrusters or whatever. Murphy didn’t know and he didn’t care. He had made it, that’s all that mattered.

They had made it to the ground. They didn’t immediately keel over and die from radiation poisoning, and it didn’t seem like that was going to happen anytime soon.

The “guard” was Bellamy Blake, brother of Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. He wasn’t really supposed to be there. The only person on the Ark to have a sibling. Murphy knew Octavia, he had seen her enough in the skybox, but they never spoke to each other. No one ever talked to her. In Murphy’s case, no one ever spoke to him either. Except for Mbege and the occasional insult, Murphy was alone. They all were.

And then they weren’t. People had survived, were still inhabiting the planet. The Grounders, odd name but it stuck quick enough, didn’t like them, and they didn’t like the grounders. They were hiding in the trees, constantly watching. Jasper, some twiggy kid Murphy had only exchanged a few words with before, was the first to go down. Speared by the grounders, and he wasn’t going to be the only one. So, they built walls and they made make-shift weapons. It wasn’t much, barely enough to fight back, but it was enough to protect them (for now). It was alright. Jasper was somehow still alive, as annoying as that was, and they were fortified now. Murphy couldn’t lie, he did love bossing the others around. Bellamy has become the unofficial-official leader of the camp, and he had appointed Murphy as his second-hand-man. It wasn’t all that bad. Really, anything was better than the stuffy confinement in space. The grounders were their enemy, but they gave them something to do, and something to unite them. So, it could be worse.

Then Murphy got in trouble, all because that brat Charlette killed Jaha the Second and Murphy was hung. But the hanging didn’t work and so he was exiled instead. Banished. Kicked out of the one place that was safe on earth. Now he had to always be looking over his shoulder, trying not to get killed. The other kids might not have liked him, but at least they weren’t trying to kill him (not all of them). Murphy was in the woods alone, well, not entirely alone. The grounders were probably watching him, waiting to see if he was a trap. And when they would see he was harmless, and really quite pathetic, they would strike. Murphy wondered how they would kill him. He never really considered how they might torture him.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got dark...  
> Warning: Graphic noncon

Murphy has his second heat when he’s seventeen, on earth, and in a grounder prison. A couple days of torture and he was about ready to tell them everything. His nails had been ripped off, and they were doing this new thing where they didn’t feed him. Except that one thing they did, and he’d spent the next couple hours hurling his insides out. Sometimes they’d cut him and then literally rub salt into his wounds.

He doesn’t notice his heat at first (or ever learn what it is exactly). He’s tired, and his whole body hurts, so the pain doesn’t stand out at first. Then his pain grows, his stomach starts to ache, and his legs become noodles. What kind of poison is this?

Murphy starts sweating, the pain becoming too much. He pulls his knees to his chest, trying to lessen the cramping. It doesn’t help much. A low whine escapes his throat. If he could, Murphy would call out to the grounders and tell them he surrenders, if only they’ll cure him. The air is stuffy and smells like him, only him, reminding him of how alone he truly his.

Murphy stays alone in their underground cell for who knows how long. He can see the sky change above, the clouds rolling through the sky.

 

An hour passes. Then two. Murphy is now fading in and out of consciousness, barely keeping a grip on his sanity. He doesn’t hear the metal cage creak open, or the grounder who comes in. He barely registers that there is a grounder until they touch him. A set of large hands roaming his body, pushing his jacket off and his shirt up. The feel of cool hands against his oh-so-hot skin is an instant relief. He arches into the touch, silently begging for more.

“Aren’t you a little slut?” Harsh words break through Murphy’s haze. Still delirious, he doesn’t immediately recognize their meaning. “Eager for my knot.” A thumb flicked his nipple on the word _knot_. It earns a whine from Murphy.

Something inside Murphy told him no, he wasn’t a slut and didn’t want this guy’s knot, but that he wanted to be left alone, or better yet, let go. This part of him begged for Murphy to do something, scream or kick or hit or _something._

Something else deeper inside, something more primal, raw, is telling him _yes_. It’s clawing at his very core, ripping away Murphy’s last shred of sanity. It’s refusing to be caged and is forcing Murphy to love his touch, his smell, to find relief in it.

On the surface, Murphy believes this is a new form of torture. This man isn’t giving him enough, only toying with him. Their hands grope at Murphy but never hold. Sometimes the touches are gentle, careful even, like Murphy is fragile package that needs to be opened slowly, and Murphy wishes they would just rip him apart already and stop feigning intimacy.

And then they’re not. Then those cruel hands are ripping his pants off, scratching down Murphy’s legs. They pause for only a second to caress his thigh, then continue their assault. He’s flipped roughly on his front, face ground into the dirt. He finally lets out a sob as his ass is pulled up and into the air. The grounder returns to his teasing, hooking Murphy’s underwear with a finger and slowly easing them down. Cool air suddenly hits, and Murphy is struck by the fact he’s wet down there, and it’s not just sweat.

“Wha?” He scrambles against the ground, trying to pull himself away. The rational side of him is finally coming back. Before he can get any further (or away at all) hands are grabbing his hips and pulling him back, flush against the grounders groin. A clothed erection rubs against his backside and the only thing Murphy can think is ‘ _oh shit’._ A grind against him causes him to freeze – his brain momentarily shutting down.

The rustle of fabric and the soft _thud_ of it hitting the ground brings Murphy out of his delirium. The sensation of flesh against brings Murphy out of his sickness.

“Wait! Wait, please I’ll tell you everything, just please don’t!” Murphy’s frantic, scrambling at the ground and trying to turn over, only to be cut off by hand against his nape, shoving his face back into the dirt.

“ _Trankil, omega_.” There’s something about the way the grounder growls at him, or the way they press into his neck, or even the way they rub against his backside, that makes Murphy want to submit. It’s embarrassing, wanting to bare his neck to his torturer. And he doesn’t even know why he wants to.

It takes all of four seconds for the grounder to impale Murphy, shoving in with brutal force. It’s a horrible pain that tears through him, ripping up his spine. Murphy opens his mouth to scream but has lost his breath. The grounder doesn’t give him time to adjust, yanking out and then thrusting back in. This, this is worse than having his nails ripped off or his food poisoned. The grounder continues on without care, as expected. He works up a rhythm of in-out, in-our, again and again, pounding Murphy into the ground like a nail.

Murphy tried to grit his teeth, to bear with it, but he felt a warmth trickle down his legs. ‘ _Blood’_ he thinks. Aside from the unbearable pain, it almost feels funny. Like shitting in reverse, something Murphy never thought he’d experience.

It could have gone on for hours, the tight grip keeping him still and the constant pounding in and out and in and out and in. Realistically, it only lasted a couple minutes. The first part, at least. The grounders hips starts to stutter, like he’s about to come. Murphy recognizes this as meaning, _it’s over, he’s going to stop soon. This will stop soon._ But he doesn’t stop. After some excruciating time, something larger starts pushing against him, trying to push in. Its larger than his fist, bearing down his rim. Murphy finally lets out a  scream when it pops in. The grounder rushes to shove a hand is over his mouth, gagging him. At least he finally stopped thrusting, now just sitting there, inside of him. The size is painful, and it reaches deep inside him. Murphy fears if he looked down he’d be able to see it, bulging out of his stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to stop picturing his stomach bulging.

Then he’s pulled up, back bowed, head against the grounders shoulder. A hand leaves his hip and grabs his cock, like the grounder has just remembered to care about his pleasure. He’s whispering into his ear, a different language but clear enough. This grounder want to keep him.

A hot burst erupts inside and Murphy has to swallow his vomit – he would’ve thrown up if not for the hand covering his mouth. He’s coming inside of him, probably gallons, and it has no where to go but deeper inside him. The grounders stopped stroking his cock, instead rubbing Murphy’s belly, cooing in his ear. His other hand has left Murphy’s mouth, but now his arm is wrapped around his throat, keeping chest to back. The arm is almost too tight but not quite, every so often squeezing to remind Murphy of his place. A mouth has latched onto his neck, not biting or kissing, just sucking. Licking. The way the tongue traces the slope of his neck sends lightening down his spine.

“ _Teina,_ ” the grounder licks the shell of Murphy’s ear, then trails his tongue down Murphy’s neck. He goes in for the kill this time, biting down hard, as though he wants to rip Murphy’s spine out through his nape. Murphy thinks of a documentary he once saw; a gazelle being mauled by a lion. The sensations that surge through Murphy tell him he’s going to be eaten alive. Murphy is the gazelle, and the grounder is the lion. He’s going to die here. He hasn’t told them anything, they may as well kill him.  What use is he to them? The last thought Murphy has before he passes out is ‘ _I deserve this.’_


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mate?” Murphy’s never heard that term before. “Like soulmates?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what? an update? haha i didn't know those were possibel this feels short but honestly im surprised i wrote anything

Murphy doesn’t wake up in the cold cell he’d spent so much time in. He wakes up surrounded by furs, in an actual room with real walls and a door. His wounds have been wrapped and he’s been dressed in new, clean clothes.

That’s not to say he wakes up comfortably, he doesn’t. His fingers still burn even with the bandages, and his whole back twinges. Even his neck has been bandaged; although that’s what hurts the most. At least he feels well rested. Still starving and dehydrated, but rest is good. He wonders if this is another torture method, make him feel some sort of relief and then rip it away from him. Deciding it won’t matter either way, he gets out of bed. Tries to get out of bed, but his legs don’t seem to work, and he hits the ground. Perfect timing, too.

A grounder walks in just as Murphy clacks his knees into the floor. They loom over him with a mask covering their face and bloody knife in their hands. Murphy prepares himself, expecting to be killed. His eyes clench, teeth grit. He knew it was going to come to this. A beat passes, then two. No stab wounds yet. He peeks an eye open, wondering why he hasn’t been gutted yet.

The grounders mask has been removed, now a rough face stares down at him.

“You are wake. Not in bed.” He speaks slowly, as though he’s unsure of his own words. Still, they are smooth and rich. A slight accent only makes his sentences sound more foreign. Murphy tries to give him a snark reply about how he’s stating the obvious, but his words come out dry. The grounder ignores the squeaks that come from Murphy, instead grabbing his arm and shoving him back on the bed.

“Stay.” And then he’s alone again. Except, the grounder left his mask and his knife behind. Murphy weighs his choices, and then grabs the knife. Better safe than sorry. He stuffs it under his thighs and tries to ignore the way the blood seeps through his pants.

It doesn’t take too long for the grounder to return; except this time, he’s  carrying a tin cup. He pushes the cup towards his face, “Drink.” His voices is stern and commanding. Murphy’s a little skeptical, sniffing the strange drink. Maybe not so strange, it has no smell or color. He takes a small sip, testing the waters. Literal water, since the drink has no flavor as well. The first drop makes him realize how thirsty he really was. He snatches the cup from the grounders hand and greedily gulps it down. It flows down his throat, and, in that moment, he thinks it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. The scratchiness of his throat is eased. The whole time, the grounder is just watching him. Some water dribbles down his chin and down his neck, the grounder’s eyes following its journey.

It sets an uncomfortable feeling in his gut, the way the grounder watches him.

“I am Adam.” The grounder – Adam introduces himself.

“Murphy.” He replies after a couple beats. Something in Adam’s stone face softens, the lines of his face slightly lifting.

“Murphy.” Adam repeats, rolls the word on his tongue, savors the way it sounds in his mouth.

“You,” Murphy starts, unsure how to phrase it. “You speak English?” Murphy is unsure about lots of things. Should he even be engaging with him? Murphy only knows so much, such as a) The grounders tortured him and have tried to kill his friends, and b) This is the grounder who violated him during what he assumes was last night. He shouldn’t let his guard down. The feel of the knife beneath his legs gives him only some sense of security. Realistically, he’d be dead before he could pull it out from under him.

Adam nods, “I speak enough.” Murphy only nods along. Adam takes a moment to just look at Murphy, to fully take him in. He reaches his arm out towards Murphy’s neck, he wants to feel his mark. Instinctively, Murphy flinches away. Adam does not waver, wrapping his hand around the Murphy’s nape. His neck has been bandaged, but Murphy can feel the heat through the cloth. He leans into it, pushes against the warm hand. It’s embarrassing how much pleasure comes from just this guy’s hand, but he can’t help it. He knows his ears are red, and soon his face will follow. Still, he encourages the touch.

Finally, Murphy swallows the lump in his throat. Might as well get this over with. “Are you going to kill me?” His voice wavers.

“No,” Adam almost looks offended, “You are my mate. _Teina.”_

“Mate?” Murphy’s never heard that term before. “Like soulmates?”

Adam laughs. It’s a real laugh, full bellied.

“Yes, soulmates.” And then Adam is pulling him in for a kiss, closed eyes and everything.

Murphy flinches, but Adam doesn’t seem to notice. _This is it_ ; Murphy thinks, _this is my chance._ He snakes his hand down, wrapping fingers around the hilt. Murphy allows Adam to kiss him, only barely keeping himself from cringing so badly that Adam feels it. _Just a bit longer_. A tongue pokes at his lips, asking for entrance. Murphy succumbs, allowing the appendage to explore his mouth. It’s disgusting, and Murphy thinks he might vomit. He’s shifted himself enough he can slide the knife out from under him, but now he needs to find the best way to attack. Slice? Stab?

 Adam’s lips have gravitated from his lips to his neck, nipping at the skin. Murphy has to bite back a moan. No time to think, just do it. It happens pretty fast, he’s bringing the knife up, slicing at Adam’s chest and pushing him off. Adam doesn’t have enough time to react before Murphy is running past him and out the door.

Murphy didn’t know what to expect once he got out, but it certainly wasn’t this. The few grounders milling about outside all stared at him. A small grounder village – there were children! Behind him, Adam was already back on his feet. Murphy looked back, Adam clutching his chest. No time to wait, Murphy ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pace im going expect a new chapter sometime next year? lol im kidding... ahah... unless


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy hadn’t been loved since he was 13, since his father was alive. He hadn’t been hugged and held or kissed, barely even touched aside from harsh grabs and punches and kicks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha wasn't expecting to work on this but i got literally one (1) comment (thank you WritingIsLife) and i couldn't stop my self.  
> Does this mean that comments inspire me? i guess but no obligation. Also hella short chapters (i changed my tags but no spoilers or anything) i would be very surprised if any chapter went over 2000 words - this on is 800ish ;/  
> Translations in end notes

Around him, trees passed in a blur. As tempted as he was, Murphy didn’t dare look back. He ran as hard as he could, chest heaving and legs burning. Either he had been running for a long time or he wasn’t the most fit from living in a box his whole life. He paused to rest against a tree, catch his breath. Murphy looked around his surroundings, trying to orient himself. Where was he? All trees looked the same.

Maybe he could find his way back to camp? If the 100 would even accept him back. Just thinking about going back made his stomach tie in knots.

In this moment of weakness, Murphy considered going back to the grounders. Adam said he was his soulmate, that means he should protect him. Love him.

Murphy hadn’t been loved since he was 13, since his father was alive. He hadn’t been hugged and held or kissed, barely even touched aside from harsh grabs and punches and kicks. Maybe he’d be safer with the grounders. Nobody else was looking out for him. Not his parents, not his friends, not his so called leader.

Which did he come from? That tree looked a bit familiar. On jelly legs, Murphy made his way back the way he came. At least, it looked like the way he came. Everything did. Fuck, Murphy hated the forest. He hated all these trees and dirt. Even the air felt wrong.

The ground was so much different than the ark. Everyone glorified and romanticized the ground, everyone wanting to return home to mother earth. Up on the ark it was all sterile and cold. Space was dark, lonely. Murphy didn’t know which one he hated more – earth where only bad things have happened to him or the ark where only bad things happened to him.

Never mind, they both sucked about the same amount (a lot).

He passed that rock before. Or was it that one? Well shit, Murphy was lost. In the woods. Alone, just like always. He was kind of regretting running away now.

Add icing to the cake, it was starting to get dark. He just has the best luck. Murphy let out a sigh. Maybe he could find shelter. Or something might kill him. Whichever comes first.

 

Eventually, Murphy found a nice little nook at the base of a tree to nap in. It was uncomfortable, but worked good enough. It was a fitful sleep, filled with tossing and turning. It was a nightmare that woke him up. None of it really made sense, just fits of all his greatest fears mashing into one.

What was really shocking was what he saw when he awoke. Beautiful blue lights glowed around him, throughout the whole cluster of trees. It was the fungi, growing on the bark. This wasn’t something you’d see on the ark. This was a side of the ground that was truly amazing. Murphy couldn’t help but reach out and touch it, not knowing what he expected. It wasn’t much, a little squishy, but most mushrooms are.

“Murphy.”

 

It’s Adam’s voice that calls out to him. Murphy isn’t sure how he found him, but could he even be surprised. Probably has some grounder tracking skills. He stands there, illuminated by the light. Murphy hates how the blue makes him more handsome, accentuates his cheekbones, bounces off his dark hair. Murphy hates himself for noticing.

“Why did you run?” It doesn’t sound like a question the way he says it.

Murphy takes a step back. “Why do you think?” This guy has to be joking.

“I think,” Adam takes a step forward. “ _Ai vout in yug timigita_.”

“I don’t speak grounder.” Step back.

“I can teach you.” Step forward. “You teach me English.”

“I wouldn’t make a very good teacher.” Step back. Except this time, his back hits against a tree.

Adam takes his final few steps forward, boxing Murphy in. A stupid smile graces his face, as if he thinks Murphy is funny. No one thinks Murphy is funny.

“ _Kom bak wit ai.”_ And then he’s kissing him again. It’s less gross this time, no tongue thank god. The kiss is also softer this time, no rushing or clawing. It takes a lot for Murphy to not give into the kiss fully. He has no knife to slice at Adam with – he dropped it somewhere in the woods. Stupid.

Instead, he pushes Adam away – or tries to. His arms just paw like a kittens, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt. He hates how those muscles make him feel.

It doesn’t go farther than kissing. Adam pulls away, but latches onto Murphy’s hand with his own.

“ _Kom haza.”_

Murphy doesn’t resist, let’s Adam pull him through the dark woods, leaving the blue behind. Maybe the grounders aren’t all that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murphy’s dynamic doesn’t change the fact Adam raped him. I kind of hate that I made that happen, but I don’t think I could change it now. Adam is redeemable, and he’s an important part of Murphy’s story.  
> I haven’t written ABO before, but I don’t want to make it the main focus. Murphy also doesn’t know much about dynamics so I’ve been skimping on them a bit. Don’t worry, he’ll learn more.  
> Rewatching season 1 I feel like I skimped a lot on the first chapter. Also, I know they were glowing blue butterflies but I decided to go with fungi instead.  
> My trigedasleng is a mix of the wiki page and me picking random languages from google translate.  
> Ai vout in yug timigita = I think you were scared  
> Kom bak wit ai = Come back with me  
> Kom haza =Come home

**Author's Note:**

> i was going to write a long explanation about this and why I wrote this, but hey, you're smart you figure it out


End file.
